


The Proper Motivation

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Blood and Gore, M/M, Post-Season/Series 13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 23:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10372155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: Wash used to wonder what kind of solider Tucker would be, if he was actually motivated.He doesn't wonder anymore.





	

Sometimes, Wash wondered what Tucker was capable of, when he was truly motivated.

He wasn’t a bad soldier, not really. Not a fantastic one either, but that was more the fault of his training than his lack of potential. Back when he first met the man, Wash thought that he was useless, just another Sim Trooper put into the program because they failed any other use the military could think up for them.

The years have proved him wrong on that. The Reds and Blues hid skills the military could use: the military just didn’t bother to look. Caboose could fix almost anything, if you bothered to give him all the parts and no distractions. Simmons had a talent for computers and heavy weapons that could be a force of nature if someone had bothered to set him up with any classes. Grif could drive- well Wash knew firsthand how well Grif could drive.

Tucker was the same: all the raw talent with none of the training. Back on Chorus, before everything, Wash thought he could turn that talent into actual skill with enough drills. The same way he’d been trained. Laps upon laps. Drills upon drills. No breaks until you stopped thinking about them.

It was the wrong approach. There was no teaching someone who wasn’t motivated. And when Wash met Tucker after what felt like a lifetime, he realized that motivation could do a hell of a lot.

Like now, Wash thought, holding his the wreckage that was his left arm together. Junior was ducked behind his arm, shielded by Wash’s body, and Wash hoped he would listen to his orders and stay there.  Tucker was gone from the tiny safe house they’d hidden in, off with Grey to learn more about this prophecy forced upon his son. Before he’d left, he’d only said one thing to Wash.

“I trust you. Keep him safe.”

“I will.”

How far they’d come, from two strangers standing in the snow.

Wash intended to keep his promise, no matter the odds. He would make sure Junior got it out of here in one piece. Junior tightened his pressure on Wash’s shredded arm. Didn’t want him bleeding out.

He was a good kid. Worried about Wash even in a time like this. When a fringe sangheili army, armed to the teeth had landed on Chrous and demanded that they hand Junior over.

It’d taken the small army of Chorus less than five minutes to say “fuck no.” And that was before they all learned they wanted Junior to destroy the galaxy.

The world blurred a bit and Wash heard Junior honk behind him. Too much blood loss to stay awake. Wash knew he should lie down before he collapsed, but that would put Junior in the line of fire and well that wasn’t fucking happening. Not given who was standing in the doorway to the safehouse.

Five sangheili cultists. Ten minutes ago, there’d been ten. Wash was trying to make the number zero when the explosion came from his left and sent him flying.

“Uncle Wash,” Junior said. His grip on Wash’s arm was strong: good, it would keep him up longer. Junior took a step forward and Wash blocked him at once, stepping to the side before the child could get in front of him.

“No.” Wash knew what he was thinking. Not the galaxy over him. And not anything over Junior.

“They-”

“No.”

“Let the Savior come forth and you will be spared.” The leader at the front of the group said. He had a sword, and Wash knew if he went up against him in this state, he’d be cut in half. Might be worth it if just to give Junior time to run.

“Junior-” Wash whispered. Junior stiffened and planted his feet into the ground. Wash had a feeling his claws dug into the cement of the warehouse.

“I am not leaving-”

“Junior.”

“No.”

“You have ten Earth seconds.”

Wash bared his teeth, trying to look fearsome even armed with two knives and covered in his own blood. Junior wouldn’t have time to run now, not without a distraction.

“Nine.”

He gripped a knife in his good hand and planted his feet.

“Eight.”

He might be able to get two or three before he went down.

“Seven.”

The one on the left did have a weak knee. His plating was different. Wash would have to go for him first.

“Six.”

“Uncle Wash, please.”

“Five.”

“When I charge them, run.”

“Four.”

“No-”

“Three.”

You know where to go. Don’t wait for me.”

“Two.”

“Tell Tucker I’m sorry-”

“One-”

The leader alien didn’t finish his sentence. A sword had split him through, right through the ribs, and Wash felt some of the tension in his shoulders leave at it’s blue glow. Two of the other’s charged and the sword swung, a ray of blue light as they enemies fell. Wash watched as a figure in full teal armor ducked as one of the survivors reached for him. He kicked his leg back, making contact with the alien’s weak knee. Wash heard a crunch then another slice of the sword. Then another crunch as his sword sliced through bone on the last soldier standing.

Wash fell to his knees, not bothering to keep standing anymore. Junior’s worried yelp kept him awake. Wash watched as Tucker pointed his sword at the now dead leader. When he spoke, his voice was flat.

“If you hurt either of them, I’ll find a way to kill you again. I know you fucks can do that. I’ll learn how.”

As Wash fell unconscious, he realized he knew what Tucker was like fully motivated.

Absolutely terrifying. 


End file.
